


Heaven

by celestrian



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 07:13:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11618595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestrian/pseuds/celestrian
Summary: Sometimes, you think, all he needs is to be shown love.(You’re honoured it’s you that the task falls to.)





	Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> \- HI everyone i’m back it’s been sUCH a long time since i last wrote anything!! it’s been a long, tiring few months, but i had to come back to deliver more Quality (??debatable) V Content™ for you all  
> \- i’ve also crawled out of the woodworks because we’RE GETTING A V ROUTE i’m so happy my dream has come true  
> \- thank you so much for all your kudos and lovely comments on my last two fics! they’re what inspired me to come back and write this one~  
> anyway, some notes before we start:  
> \- the reader is referred to as a lady  
> \- occurs in a similar time period/AU as with ‘Your Eyes’ – i.e. v’s over rika, but [mild spoiler] he’s still lacking most of his vision in this one (although, following canon, he can still see somewhat out of his left eye)  
> well, i think that’s it! here we go~

You wake to the gentle pressure of the sun’s golden rays against your eyelids, streaming through the slightly open curtains of your bedroom. The warmth is gentle, and you welcome it. You feel it shine over your jaw, the apples of your cheeks, your forehead – as if it were a hand, splayed over soft feminine features in a tender caress. It’s greatly preferable to waking to the harsh blaring of an alarm, with the knowledge that you have things to do, people to meet, places to be.

You rise slightly from your position on your side, lifting the soft cotton of the duvet out from where it’s tangled between your legs and under your hips, careful not to move too much. Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you note the small dust particles illuminated by the steadily increasing light which seeps into the room, and take a moment to observe them as they float about the room. It’s somewhat calming – you breathe out softly and note how they swirl around along a spiral-like path.

Moving your attention away from this for a moment, you turn your head to look over the rest of this side of the room. There’s a bedside table next to you, on which sit a night lamp, a bowl of (washed) strawberries (although the water droplets have evaporated since – you’d forgotten to eat them the night before) and a vase of beautiful flowers. Well, beautiful _fake_ flowers, owing to your pollen allergies. You smile – they were a considerate gift.

Gently, you rise from the bed, your bare feet curling against the cool wood of the floor. You’re also made aware that your legs are equally as bare – feeling the slight chill of the air against the smooth skin as you make your way over to the window.

At first, you’re reluctant to open the curtains – though you rationalise the decision with a glance at the clock on the wall – eleven-twenty-eight seems like a late enough time for a lie-in – despite your lack of weekend employment, there were still, regrettably, responsibilities to attend to.

You pull at the curtains gently, so as not to suddenly flood the room with light. As you’d thought, you hear a gentle rustling behind you, followed by an almost imperceptible groan. You don’t turn, instead opting to stretch your sleep-sore muscles as you peer at the city beyond the apartment window. You yawn, covering your mouth with a clammy palm, before balancing on your tiptoes and reaching up with both arms.

“You look beautiful like that.” A voice, gentle yet still rough with sleep, murmurs from beneath the sheets. Peering briefly over your shoulder, you smile gently at the speaker of said words, before turning back to watch the town begin to awaken from its slumber, much as you just had.

“You say that to me all the time.”

“Yes, but,” you sense him moving, lifting himself to sit upright on the bed. “It’s especially true at the moment.”

Dragging a hand through your hair in attempts to neaten it (though you fear you’ve only served to further tousle it), you can’t resist prompting him a little further – “you’ll have to elaborate”.

“Well, not every man can wake up in the morning to a beautiful lady wearing nothing but his shirt.”

“Oh, is this your shirt? I didn’t realise.” The remark is made genuinely, without a hint of teasing or sarcasm. “Sorry, it was cold last night. I put on the first thing I found.”

“Hey, I’m definitely not complaining,” you can hear the good-natured laugh in his words, can envision the way an adoring smile pulls at his lips – the way it always does when he looks at you. The thought causes the corners of your own lips to tug upward – you can’t resist, his happiness is infectious, even if you can’t directly see it.

“Also, for the record, I’ve got underwear on.”

“Really? I can’t tell, the shirt’s too long on you.”

“Would you rather I take it off?” You turn fully to face him, your smile having morphed into a smirk as you pull at the hem of the shirt, as if you were about to remove it.

The man’s pale cheeks tint a faint pink. (It’s a wonder the events of last night had actually transpired, considering he now appeared flustered at the briefest mention of nudity.)

“Well... I wouldn’t complain if that were the case.”

A laugh ripples from your throat – “so formal!”

“Sorry.” He laughs along with you. Then, there’s a pause, as he squints at you (presumably in an attempt to try and see you a little clearer), before he speaks again. “I kind of want to take a photo of you like this.”

You raise a brow – why he would want to photograph your less-than-presentable self in the morning is beyond you for the most part – though you step nearer to him and shrug your shoulders. “Well, I won’t stop you. Feel free, I guess.”

“Ah, but…” He runs a hand through vibrant turquoise hair, brushing it back from where it usually falls over his forehead.

“Your hair looks good like that.” Unable to resist, you interject – before apologising. “Sorry, continue.”

“Oh, does it? Perhaps I’ll have to style it like this properly sometime, see how it looks.” He pauses and lifts the bedsheet from over his body, before stretching himself and getting to his feet.

“You’re wearing sweatpants,” you note idly to yourself as he approaches you. They’re slung low on his hips – you can see the tops of his hipbones peek out from under the material – though you force yourself to look a little further up before your ‘subtle’ observations are noticed. His torso, however, is uncovered – the only garment on his upper body being the silver necklace he always wore.

“I am. Why, are you disappointed?” He grins at you, the corners of his eyes creasing in teasing. You swat at his bare chest, pouting – though failing to appear even slightly upset, owing to the laugh that bursts out of you.

He’s not muscular, per se, though there is a certain definition to his figure – his frame is lean and graceful, but with vague lines indicating slight musculature around his stomach. His arms are much the same – you can see the slight curve of each bicep, though again, they’re not particularly defined areas.

“Enjoying the view?”

“I am.” You bite your lip, pressing a hand to his back and pulling him closer to you until your noses are almost touching. You take a moment to take in every tiny detail of his features, from the beautiful, vibrant blue of one of his eyes, framed by long, dark eyelashes, to the slope of his pink lips in a gentle, warm smile. His gaze, as he watches you, is so affectionate that you feel as if you might melt under it. The warmth of his hand seeps through the material of your (his) shirt; you can feel it against your hip, his grip loose yet comforting.

“Earlier, I said I wanted to take a photo of you.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I interrupted you.”

“No, don’t worry about it. Anyway, I kind of… don’t want to, either.”

“Why? What’s stopping you?” You quirk an eyebrow, curious.

“I… want to be selfish for once.” You inhale, seeing the almost upset expression that suddenly overcomes his features. (You think you understand why. He’s remembering something, you can tell.) “I want to be the only one who sees you like this. Not documented, not just pixels on a screen, not saved to share, for others to see. Just… you.”

“Well then,” you lower your head and press a kiss to the hollow of his throat, feel him tremble as you scrape your teeth ever-so-gently against his smooth skin. “You have my full permission,” another kiss, this time to his collarbone, “to be selfish with me, Jihyun. I’m yours, after all.”

“Thank you,“ his breath hitches, likely both from your words and your actions. You kiss him again – forehead, nose, cheek, shoulder, chest, wrist. (You pointedly avoid his mouth, fully aware that neither of you had yet brushed your teeth that morning. Ah well, there was plenty of time for that afterwards.)

Sometimes, you think, all he needs is to be shown love.

(You’re honoured it’s you that the task falls to.)

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, and i hope you enjoyed this one as much as you enjoyed the last two! i wanted to write something a little more calm and cutely domestic with less of a plot this time (and a very short summary lol)  
> \- i'm curious, did anyone start off thinking that they were in the room alone? 'cause that's kinda what i was going for;;  
> \- also!! as much as i love writing for v, i'm worried i'll eventually run out of ideas for him - so if you have any suggestions, do drop them in the comments below so i can get ~inspired~  
> \- or if you feel like seeing something for another character and have a good idea, feel free to throw that at me too and i'll see what i can do.  
> well, thank you all, and until next time!


End file.
